Fighting Crime With Mangoes and Limes
by peacefulsands
Summary: Special Agents Eliot Spencer and Parker are set on the trail of a team of art thieves. What happens when an undercover Parker finds herself the object of an equally undercover art thief's latest crush? Will said art thief see the error of his ways?  AU
1. Fighting Crime with    Mangoes?

**Title : Fighting Crime With Mangoes and Limes**

**Artist** : sunspot. Sunspot created art which can be seen at her journal on Dreamwidth. The art mix inspired this fic.  
><strong>Author<strong> : peaceful_sands  
><strong>Beta<strong> : cougars_catnip

**Disclaimer** : All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Characters** : Special Agent Eliot Spencer, Special Agent Parker, Hardison, Sophie and Nathan  
><strong>Rating<strong> : PG-13

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 – Fighting Crime With . . . Mangoes?<strong>

"There's something wrong with you," Special Agent Eliot Spencer growled at his partner who was standing at the edge of the roof and looking down with a contemplative expression. "Seriously, you're not going after him that way!"

"But I could," Parker gave the eager expression that always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "I could manage that easily," she said, pulling a pair of gloves from her pocket as if she intended to skim her way down the dangling rope, hand over hand with nothing to keep her attached to the rope.

Eliot gave her a disgusted look as if he'd never heard anything so absurd. Which in fact he hadn't, or not since the last time she suggested some equally preposterous idea. "Aw, don't be like that, Eliot. I'll be careful and you'll hold onto the rope to make sure it stays steady."

"I'll wobble it to make sure you fall off it, just to be rid of your craziness." Eliot sighed, "You'd think after this many years, I'd have earned the right to a half-way decent partner and not . . . you!"

She pouted and came away from the roof edge. "Maybe I'll leave him to the guys on the ground," she said unhappily, coming back to stand alongside Eliot. "I hate it when they get away. I just want to catch up with 'em and scrunch 'em up and stand on their toes, kick them in their shins and then . . . then I'll headbutt them."

"Crazy, that is what you are. You have a gun and handcuffs . . . why on earth would you stand on their toes and kick them in the shins? And as for the headbutting, need I mention police brutality and how frowned upon that is?"

"You're not telling me you've never roughed up a perp?" she asked with an evil gleam in her eye.

"Not talking about it," Eliot replied blandly, "Come on, no point hanging around up here. They've either got him down on the ground or we're back to square one and trying to figure out where he's hiding out this time."

Parker caught up with him, bouncing a little at his side, ignoring his growl of disapproval.

**# # # # # # #**

Hardison poked listlessly at the keyboard. He was bored, this was boring. He wanted more spice in his life, something to catch his interest and . . . distract him. "Seriously, guys, at least turn the comms off!" he moaned.

"No, we can't do that, because you can't be trusted at this point in time, can you?" Nate reprimanded firmly. "If we could be sure of you, then you wouldn't have to be supervised at all times."

Hardison rolled his eyes, then snapped, "But you're not supervising, you're making out with Sophie and making me listen. Which is totally gross, seriously, it's like reverse voyeurism or something."

"I think the word you're looking for is exhibitionism, and it was just a kiss," Sophie said sweetly, earning another eye roll from Hardison, though she would never know it. "You know it's your own fault that we have to do this, don't you? You were the one who let us down last time, just so that you could play on your Wizard War World thing."

Hardison pulled a face, then sniffed. "Exhibitionist!" he said, bitterly.

"I've been called worse than that," Nate replied drily.

"Me too," Sophie giggled and the next thing Hardison knew he was listening to more kissing that he really didn't need to hear.

**# # # # # # #**

The con should have been simple. It _was_ simple, boringly simple in fact. Hardison listened to Sophie distracting the mark as Nate made a move to procur the paperwork they needed from the office. Seriously they didn't need him that much.

He shifted the mouse, letting the cursor hover over the start button so he could see what else there was on the computer that he could use to distract himself from the boredom. The utter and completely mindblowing boredom. He clicked and scanned down the list. He needed something quiet; anything with music in the background would alert Nate and Sophie to what he was doing and that was the last thing he needed right now.

Solitaire sounded at least a little distracting, not exactly as exciting as he really wanted, but at least, it was pretty undetectable from the other end of the phone and if he did have to pause the game it wasn't like anything would change. This game would just wait for him to make his way back to it once he'd corralled Nathan and Sophie into order again.

He'd barely clicked the mouse button to select the game when Nate's voice in his ear said, "You wouldn't be loading up a game round about now, would you, Hardison?"

He contemplated ignoring Nate or lying, but when Nate added, "I know that there were 257 games of Solitaire played before I went out," Hardison knew he was doomed to remain bored.

"No, I'm not loading up a game now," he replied archly. "Are you done yet?"

Nate snorted a laugh, "Feeling a little sore there, Hardison? A little like someone knows you too well? Yes I'm almost done here and then we'll be on our way back to you. Once you've seen this, and you've got into their system with the link, we'll even let you go hang out with your horde."

"About time too."

**# # # # # # #**

Eliot leaned back in his chair, stretching out the muscles that were tightening in his back the longer he sat tied to his computer keyboard typing up reports. If only he'd realized all those years ago that this was what working for the FBI would be for more hours of the week than he spent away from his desk actually bringing criminals to justice.

Still at least he was nearly done for the day or he would be if Parker was on track. He wasn't sure who he'd pissed off to end up with a probationer as his partner and then one like Parker, well he figured he must have done something pretty big. She was crazy. There was no other word for it. On their very first job together, she had carried a backpack which he'd found out later carried a complete kit for rappeling and that she was absolutely fearless about when to use it. For the first time in his whole career, he appeared to be the one with the common sense. He was certain his mentor from his own probationary days would be sitting back laughing uproariously at that turn out.

"PARKER!" he yelled, knowing they were the only two currently in the office and enjoying the sight of the probie jumping and then scowling furiously at him. She reminded him of a disgruntled squirrel with her tail all fluffed up. "Finished yet?" he asked sweetly.

The scowl deepened and she jabbed the keyboard hard. "No!" The pout was out in force and Eliot sighed knowing it meant he wasn't through for the day.

He gave a strong push with his feet and let his chair glide across the floor. It stopped right beside her without him putting his feet down and she frowned. "How do you do that? I can do the whole push and glide thing but I never finish exactly where I want to be and you always do."

Eliot said nothing, just quirked an eyebrow and turned to face her screen. "Why aren't you finished?" he asked a moment or two later, eyes already scanning down what she'd written. It wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting. "Parker, you really don't need to include the part about the mangoes. It wasn't really crucial to the proceedings. Just include the really salient points. You're not actually trying to bore anyone to death, just give them enough to let them say 'Wow! Great job!' and move right along to picking on some other poor sucker and let us get on with our job."

"But . . ."

"Salient, Parker. It means the important, irelevant/i bits. The fact the perp ran past a fruit stall and you, in your infinite wisdom, decided to pick up two mangoes and try and throw them at him to slow him down, is actually something you don't want to admit in public."

"But . . ."

"Particularly given how bad your throw was."

She harrumphed in protest and then snapped, "Well, I bet you couldn't have done any better!"

"Do you indeed? You really want to place that bet? I could be convinced to take it on."

She glared at him suspiciously, then said decisively, "Best of . . . five or ten?"

He smirked and said, "Finish the report, Parker. I want to go home."


	2. Are We Making the Right Moves?

**Chapter Two - Are We Making The Right Moves?**

Parker was keeping quiet and for the minute was trying to stay out of Eliot's way. She wasn't quite sure what had triggered the latest bad mood, but she'd been around him long enough to know that so long as she kept out of his way and didn't antagonize him then she wouldn't bear the brunt of his anger.

He stomped behind her chair, heading for his own desk and she kept her head down, turning her head just enough to see him throw himself into his chair and reach for the monitor on his computer. His shoulders were hunched up to his ears and as he logged into the computer with one hand, he reached for his phone. She saw him jab at the keys angrily and dreaded to think who was going to receive the outpouring of his anger.

He sighed and she watched as he rubbed his forehead as if he was tired and had a headache. She quietly slid the drawer beside her open, just far enough to check she'd got some tylenol that she could give him later. "Hey hun, it's just me," he sounded every bit as tired as he looked. "Yeah, look . . . I'm not going to make it today, or I'm not likely to anyway. We're being called into a meeting and we both know what that's gonna mean."

There was a lull as he clearly listened to something from the other end, then he spoke again, "If you want to stop by my apartment, I can tell you where I've left his present - and, yeah, it is wrapped this time. I had visions of having to rush to get to you, but really hoped that I would make it."

"Are you sure? Is he going to be okay with that? Yeah, I guess you're right. . . Tell him - tell him his uncle loves him and I'm sorry, right? Yeah, I know. Well, you all take care. I'll call later if I can. Bye."

He hung up. There was a few moments quiet and then Parker heard the familiar sound of his chair gliding back across the floor to come to rest beside her own. She looked up at him and gave a smile. "Hey, kid," he greeted.

She pulled a face at him, relieved as she saw his expression soften a little.

"I've got bad news. We're being called into a meeting in twenty minutes. I don't know what but it's likely to be big and lengthy and I wouldn't count on going home any time soon," he looked apologetic.

"It's okay . . . I've got you for company, right?" she smiled and he rolled his eyes in response.

"Right," he agreed sarcastically. "Because I'm such good company!" He rubbed at his forehead again and she remembered the tylenol. Opening the drawer she pulled the box out and handed them to him before turning back to her work. He looked at the box in his hand and smiled, "Thanks, Parker." With that, he turned his chair, pushed and glided back to his own desk. "Don't start on anything that you can't be pulled away from," he reminded her without looking round.

**# # # # # # #**

The meeting was tedious. In her time at the FBI so far, Parker wasn't sure whether she hated the meetings or the incessant paperwork more. She'd thought the meetings would be more exciting, after all it was the start of a case, it should be enticing, luring her in to want to solve it. The reality was that it tended to be more about a bunch of pencil pushers boring them all to tears with something that could be delivered far more succinctly by getting to the point rather than waffling on for hours.

Eliot's expression was bleak, so she took that to mean the meeting wasn't likely to be over any time soon. He seemed to have an instinct for these things. He looked up at her and met her gaze rolling his eyes. She smiled. For a grumpy old-timer, she was growing to like him. He might be gruff but he did actually seem to care that she was okay . . . even if he did insult her a lot.

"So," Eliot interrupted the guy pointing at the screen, "basically, what you're telling us is that there is a gang operating in the area, taking priceless artefacts from museums around the country but that this area is their current focus. As far as you can tell there are two or it might even be three or who knows four or five of them in the team. There's definitely at least one man and one woman but you're not sure whether they're native Americans or not because the woman has on previous jobs spoken a variety of different languages but you're fairly sure that it's the same woman, despite the fact that you have zero actual photos of her, but several photofits that bare almost no resemblance to each other. So apart from the fact that it begs the question of whether your witnesses had some visual disorder or the possibility of you needing an artist who can draw, what you can tell us that's remotely useful is jack shit? Am I right?" He glared at the pencil pusher who'd been going on for the last hour.

Parker hid her smirk behind her hand as the recipient of the glare positively cowered before adding quietly, "I could just give you a copy of my files?"

"Why didn't we think of that before we had to listen to the crap?" Eliot growled. "Is that it? Can we go now and pick this up tomorrow?" He'd turned his attention to the Special Agent in Charge.

"No, Agent Spencer, you can't. I want you and Agent Parker to get going on adding to the information we already have and trying to track down this team. Based on the previous hits, it would lead us to believe that they will be hitting another location here in our very city within the week."

"And you're expecting us to work out which one from the information you've given us so far?" Eliot snapped. "Who else is working on this 'high priority' case?"

"Just the two of you, but if you come up with some good leads I'll draft other agents in to support you."

Eliot's jaw dropped open, then snapped shut, his eyes darkened. He reached forward and snatched up the files, standing from his chair and heading for the door with a curt, "Come on, Parker. We have work to do."

Parker picked up her own files and quickly hurried after Eliot with a quick "Good Afternoon, sir," before she left to her boss, not willing to take the risk of pissing him off more than Eliot no doubt had done.

**# # # # # # #**

"So Hardison, what have we got?" Nate said.

"What have _we_ got? _We_ have got a builder's plan of the museum with marked access points. _We_ have got the over-ride codes for individual doors and security within the building. _We_ have also already got access to all the camera security within the building with photo footage stored and ready to replay for different times of the day to enable me to show them suitable recordings to hide your progress."

"Sarcasm is not becoming, Hardison," Nate said blandly.

Hardison pulled a face before continuing, "I also have over-ride codes for each separate piece of artwork within the building so that individual pieces can be moved by their own staff. Was there anything you wanted _me_ to do?"

"Oh Hardison, it's alright for you," Sophie opined, "You just need to sit in the van and watch us do the real work!"

"I - I - I **_JUST_ **sit in the van and watch you do the _real_ work? Seriously! You have no idea how important I am to this operation, do you? **_You_ **think either of you could pull this off without _**ME**_!"

"Will you two knock it off?" Nate said, fed up with the bickering. "Yes, Hardison, we know we need you and we know we can't do it without you. Sophie, he doesn't _just_ sit in the van."

Sophie raised her eyebrows and then looked down at her nails as if inspecting the finish on her polish. "Sorry, Hardison, I didn't mean to imply we could do it without you," she muttered.

Hardison shook his head and turned his attention back to his laptop. "This is the surveillance schedules. I've highlighted one shift which has a few less guards, due to staff shortages - they're actually advertizing for staff, which could be a possible way in."

Nathan's expression turned thoughtful, "There are possibilities in this . . . Give me some time to think about this."

**# # # # # # #**

"I can't believe you've got me applying for jobs," Hardison muttered as he walked down the corridor towards the office he'd been directed to.

"It's good for you to be in touch with the real world. You've never actually had to do this before, have you, Hardison?" Hardison would swear that Nate was smirking at the other end of the comms. "Are you nervous? Worried about a little job interview?"

"Shut up!" Hardison snapped under his breath, before brushing his hands down his suit, drawing himself up to his full height and sending a quiet prayer skywards.

"Ah, Mr. Havers," the woman standing at the open door greeted. "Good to meet you."

"Yeah, it's good to meet you too. Thanks for giving me this chance."

She ushered him into her office and into a seat, explaining as she did so more about the security guard position and what it would involve. He nodded, faking keen interest as she talked, mind running over the possibilities and wondering why Nate couldn't just stick with the same plan they'd used on the other museums they'd taken art from.

Part of him thought they were taking too many risks. It was too soon after their last heist, they'd barely finished off-loading what they wanted to and secreted the pieces they'd each decided to claim for themselves as security for the future. In Hardison's opinion they should be laying low for a while, covering themselves and letting the heat die down or maybe moving on and hitting somewhere else.

Sticking around and attacking multiple museums in an area drew too much attention for his liking.

He was managing to carry off the 'seriously interested in this job' attitude for the woman who had moved on from telling him about the job to asking him about his previous experience. He opened the file he was carrying with him and lifted out the two letters of reference that Sophie and Nate had written for him. Sophie had said that they should each write one, so that they didn't sound too alike and gave a different tone to make it more convincing. Hardison was convinced she'd dressed up and got into role to write hers, particularly given the way she'd behaved about the 'practise' interviews she'd subjected him to before letting him actually attend this interview.

The woman before him, Mrs Nielson he reminded himself, seemed impressed by the two letters and by his answers so far. Hardison figured it was all going pretty well all things considered, in fact what worried him more was actually having to do the job and how he was going to get out after the job. To just run off immediately after they'd worked the place was too obvious. His image would be all over the cameras and no doubt the CSI would be swabbing everything in sight for fingerprints and skin epithelials. His thoughts wandered for a moment to Calleigh Duquesne and then remembered that there shouldn't be any gunfire and so she wouldn't be trying to figure out any callibers or gun types.

He looked up at Mrs Nielson again, trying to refocus and come up with a suitable answer for her questions about long-term commitment to the museum and where he saw himself in the future. He resisted the urge to say 'anywhere but here' or 'on the run' or even worse 'hopefully not locked up for robbing your museum of the decent art work'. He stumbled through an answer about treasuring the world's art history and wanting to apply himself to safeguarding it for the enjoyment of all. He figured he didn't do too badly when she beamed at him.

It was a relief when everything was finally over and she was showing him out, assuring him that he would hear before the end of the following week about whether he was in line for a position. He was thankful to get out of the building and pull off the tie and wishing he could shed the rest of the suit in favor of his usual jeans and t-shirts.

**# # # # # # #**

First day at work and in a (sssh, don't tell anyone) normal, legitimate job. Hardison shuddered at the prospect as he climbed the steps at the side of the museum building to the side staff entrance in his new starchy and uncomfortable uniform. He pushed the door open and walked down the corridor to the office to report for duty.

"Aaah, Mr Havers, so good to see you this morning. There's just a couple of forms to fill in with a final few details and hopefully by then our other new colleague will have joined us and we'll be able to begin on our orientation for the day. We'll get right on to training you up so the two of you will be fully trained within the next two weeks."

"Someone else new?" Hardison queried.

"Oh, yes. We've been a little short on staff lately so it's wonderful to be able to appoint two of you at the same time and train you together. Far more efficient, although once the training period is over, the two of you will be assigned to work with other people until you have a little more experience under your belts. You understand?"

"Oh, sure, yeah," Hardison agreed, figuring he didn't have much intention of sticking around that long anyway and then she walked in through the door!

He thought for a moment his heart had stopped, then he felt it beating hard at double time. She was a vision of beauty, a goddess among statues of goddesses, living and breathing and . . . and apparently her name was 'Miss Patterson' and Hardison wasn't sure that he was ever going to be able to pay attention to anything else while they were working together.

She looked round nervously, nodded anxiously when she was given the same forms as Hardison to fill out. He heard her muttering under her breath. He couldn't quite catch everything, but at least one small outburst sounded like, "How am I supposed to remember all this shit?" Her hand flittered across the page in stops and starts as she completed the form before handing it back to Mrs Nielsen who beamed brightly.

"Okay, everyone, let's start our orientation for the day and then we can get you both set up with positions within the galleries and a little reading matter so that you can memorize the information the guests to the museum might have."

"Memorize? Information? Guests?" the girl squeaked. "I thought this was a security position!"

"What better way to keep our gallery secure than to have staff who are approachable and who can integrate with our visitors and pay attention to them, showing how alert they are to all who are within our walls," Mrs Nielsen beamed. "By the end of next week, I will expect you both to have learned all the relevant information for each of the galleries and then we'll be able to think about training you in how to monitor our electronic security systems and also to being to work you into our schedules. Won't that be wonderful?"

"Absolutely," the girl replied drily and Hardison couldn't help but agree with her point of view, even as he wondered what she was doing there, if this was the level of her enthusiasm. As they moved away he was sure he heard her mutter almost under her breath, "I can't believe you've put me in this position. Next time I'm going to sit back with my feet up and a beer in my hands."

Hardison just watched her move down the corridor, every movement graceful and elegant.

**# # # # # # #**

Eliot sat back with his feet up and his comm unit in, listening to Parker as she alternated between interacting with the Museum administrator and mumbling abuse in his direction. "Seriously, Parker, I am not sitting here with my feet up iand/i a beer, so quit whining."

He sipped at the bottle of lightly sparkling water in his hand and crunched on an organic apple. "That's gross, Eliot," Parker complained. "I can hear you eating . . . ew, seriously!"

"I can hear you whining . . . which is worse I wonder? Found anything useful yet? Any lapses in security?"

"Give me time! She keeps quizzing me on all these crappy paintings. Seriously who'd want to pinch one of these? I don't even like them."

"Takes all sorts, girl. Art's a subjective thing and some people with loads of money have zero taste to go with it. Anyone suspicious?"

"There's a new guy who's started today. He keeps staring at me and I think he's trying to smile but it's kind of creepy. I'm not sure he's normal."

"Takes one to know one," Eliot muttered. "Keep an eye on him, see if he does anything more strange than smiling at you."


	3. Crazy As You

**Chapter 3 - Crazy As You**

Hardison sat on the couch in front of the huge display of screens in Nate's apartment, poking at his laptop and waiting for Sophie and Nate to return, hoping that they would be bringing something edible with them because he was almost hungry enough to actually gnaw on the furniture. He leaned forward to snag his bottle of orange soda and took another sip before setting it back down and turning back to re-arrange the information on his screen yet again - personnel, layout of the museum and location of the targeted pieces, position of the human security detail during the day, the electronic security at all hours and a list of information that he still needed to retrieve which included more information about the overnight security arrangements.

He flicked back to the picture of Miss Patterson. He hadn't managed to talk to her yet, didn't know her first name because being new her records weren't in the system yet. He'd tried smiling at her on and off throughout the day, but she just gave him a frown and looked at him like there was something wrong with him. He sighed, staring longingly at the picture. She was gorgeous and he really needed to stop just gawking at her and giving her the dumb smiles and actually get over the whole tongue-tied thing and talk to her. He wanted to ask her out, go for a coffee. Wasn't that what normal people did? He should ask Sophie how normal people got dates. He was pretty sure she'd know, after all, as a grifter it was usually her job to pretend to be a normal person, to go in and interact with the people they were targeting. She knew how to schmooze and impress when the occasion warranted it.

He wondered if she'd help him with this without telling Nathan. Nathan would just laugh and tease him about his social ineptitude as usual.

He heard a noise at the door and flicked the picture of Miss Patterson closed just before Nathan and Sophie opened the door. Nathan's arm was around Sophie's shoulders as ever and Hardison was glad that he'd already set himself up in the middle of the couch. Hopefully that would mean the two of them would have to separate and not sit groping each other in his presence.

"Hardison!" Nathan greeted. "Good to see you. So how was the first day at work?" he laughed.

Hardison glared ominously, "I'm sure I could have got this information from outside you know, if you'd have given me the chance. Instead of having to sit and listen to Mrs Nielsen bore everyone to tears. Seriously, do you know the rubbish she's making me learn about the art in there? It's not even the good stuff that we're going to lift!"

"Aw, sweetheart," Sophie said, brushing her hand over the top of his head like he was a child. "He's getting hungry and grumpy," she smirked. "It's a good job we bought him his favorite pizza," she said, thrusting a pizza box at him with a flourish.

"Go on then," Nathan said, pouring Sophie a glass of wine in the kitchen and himself a scotch. "Set it up and show us what you have got."

Hardison clicked to open the first folder, scrolling through the photos and telling them all as much as he could about the personnel. It was strange that both Sophie's and Nathan's focus went immediately to "Miss Patterson" as well but not in a good way.

"Who is she? And why has she taken up this post now?"

"Have you done a background check on her yet?"

"No, why?" Hardison snapped defensively. "She's new, she's not in their system. Haven't even been able to find out what her first name is, so until I can get that information I don't stand a chance of finding out much more about her."

"Facial recognition, finger prints - don't you normally hack all those systems? Why not with her?" Nathan pressed.

Sophie snickered, "Hardison likes our little Miss Patterson. Hardison doesn't want to run her through all his systems, he wants to woo her!"

Nathan threw back his head and laughed and Hardison picked at his pizza, all appetite deserting him as he flicked to the next folder and began to tell them about the security on site.

# # # # # # #

"So creepy guy is called Alistair Havers," Parker said as she climbed into the car with Eliot at the end of her shift in the museum. "I couldn't get much else as they haven't entered the information into the systems yet, but he did say he'd only been in Boston a few months 'this time'. That sounds suspicious, right, Eliot? I'm right to be suspicious about the creepy guy?"

"Well, it's a little strange and he's certainly one to watch out for, but don't narrow down the search too much just yet. Just because someone looked at you doesn't immediately make them suspicious," he said, grinning as he pulled back out into the traffic. "So how did you enjoy your first day as a museum employee?"

"You know it wasn't as bad as I was expecting . . . I mean some of it is a bit boring but some of the art is really interesting and I was looking at these little statue things of little naked men and they've got everything and it's all in detail right down to -"

"Parker! Enough! Seriously? You spent the day looking at statues of naked men to see if they were anatomically correct . . ." He shuddered at the thought, then cast her an all too familiar glare. "There's something wrong with you!"

She grinned back and settled into her seat more comfortably, "So are we grabbing a beer or are you just dropping me home? We don't have to go back to the office, do we?"

"No, I've finished up there. . . You want beer? The usual place?"

She nodded enthusiastically, already letting her hair down and shrugging out of her jacket before reaching over the seat to grab a small backpack and pulling it on to her lap so she could rummage through it. Yanking out a figure-hugging top, she swiftly pulled her 'work uniform' shirt off and began to struggle into the top in the confined space.

Glancing across to see what she was doing, Eliot almost lost control of the car as they swerved across two lanes of traffic. "Shit! Parker! What the hell are you doing?" he barked, grasping at the wheel and bringing the car back under control. "You do know that laws about public decency still apply to you, even though you work for the FBI?"

"Don't be such a prude, Special Agent Spencer. I know you like looking," she said coyly, receiving nothing but a growl in response.

# # # # # # #

Parker was just finishing packing her belongings into her work locker when Havers came in. She looked up at him in surprise when he greeted her. "Oh hi, Miss Patterson. It's really nice to see you again. I'm so pleased that I get to meet you again," he said, smiling broadly.

She frowned at him. "I work here. Why wouldn't you get to meet me again?" she asked shortly.

She saw as his expression turned distinctly embarrassed. "Huh, you're kinda strange, you know that?" she asked, slightly disconcerted by the splutter of laughter she heard through the ear-piece that connected her with Eliot.

"Umm, I guess . . . sorry," Havers stuttered back in reply. "Just I guess, you know, you might have found the job too boring and not come back after the other day or something . . . so yeah, it's nice to see you again."

"Oh, okay," Parker shrugged, accepting his explanation easily. "I'm . . . er . . . I'm gonna . . ." She waved a hand in the direction of the door to the public areas of the museum, "I'm gonna go do . . . work stuff . . ." She dashed in the direction of the door, briefly fumbling as she tried to push through the pull door and muttering under her breath, "He talked to me . . . Why's he talking to me, Eliot? And what kind of person says things like that?"

As she hurried down the corridor, she calmed a little with Eliot's simple reassurances that Havers had just been making polite conversation, even if he was almost as inept at it as Parker herself was.

"It's weird though, Eliot," she whispered grumpily. "I wish it was you in here and not me. You're better at this kind of thing than me."

"Stop panicking, you're fine and anyway, if I had to do everything I was better at, there'd be nothing at all left for you to do. So get used to it, kid, this is the real world of undercover FBI," Eliot snarked back. "Maybe you'll even learn to be a real human by the end of it!"

"Not funny, Eliot," she bit back, voice harsh despite its low level. "I am a real human. I've told you that before."

He snickered quietly and she ignored him, turning her attention to studying the schedule in front of her, telling her the assignments for the day. She let out a sigh of disappointment when she saw that both she and Havers were going to be covering the same gallery for a two hour slot just before lunch, but perked up a little when she saw herself down to train to work the cameras that afternoon. It wasn't like she hadn't already learned to do that and more in her work with Eliot, but it gave her more of a chance to develop an overview of the whole museum and look for the irregularities that might denote a security breach. She wondered when she'd get another chance to poke around in the computer system - Havers details might have been entered by now which would give her a better chance of proving to Eliot just how very suspicious he was.

# # # # # # #

Parker was sitting at one end of the gallery, browsing through the leaflets that Mrs Nielsen had given her and matching the information with the art around her. She was also keeping a wary eye on the visitors and had tutted loudly a few times when she figured people were getting too loud or too handsy with the statuary.

Eliot snickered in her ear every time and she hissed an insult at him under her breath. She was doing her utmost to completely ignore Havers who was sitting at the other end of the gallery and kept casting glances her way. It wasn't working.

"Eliot, he's looking at me again!" she hissed. "Do you think he knows who I am?"

"Nah, you're worrying too much, kiddo. Just relax. Maybe he's just a guy who appreciates a good-looking girl when he gets the chance. If you're really lucky, maybe he'll ask you out on a date . . ."

"I don't want to go on a date. Dates are . . . icky!" She shuddered and cast a glare across the space at Havers, who for some reason she couldn't begin to imagine, beamed back at her and stood up stretching before strolling nonchalantly across to her side. "Eliot! He's coming this way . . . again!"

"Just play nice, Parker. Just play nice," he said, encouragingly.

"Miss Patterson," Havers was still beaming. "How's your day going? Finished learning all this new and fascinating stuff about this awesome art yet?"

"Yes, have you? You don't seem to be paying a lot of attention to your work. I haven't seen you reading or watching all the people who might be touching things they shouldn't," she reprimanded curtly.

He continued to grin, "See, you were watching me . . . I knew it. You like me, dontcha?" He shrugged, then drew himself up to his full height again, "You want me to ask you out . . . that's why you've spent all morning trying to get me to look at you."

Eliot laughed in Parker's ear bud. Parker frowned, barely resisting the urge to snap at Eliot in favor of saying primly, "I was doing no such thing! I have learned the information on the leaflets from Mrs Nielsen and spent my time ensuring that the visitors behaved appropriately."

"You weren't ogling my fine form then?" he asked with a snicker.

"No! Of course I wasn't. I'm Working!" she finished emphatically.

"Maybe, I'll have to find a way to distract you from your work then," he said, leaning in closer. "I could offer to take you out to dinner after work tonight. That could distract you all day as you try to decide where you'd like to go, what you'd like to eat, what we could talk about . . ."

"I'm busy . . . I have . . . I have an . . . an Eliot!" she threw out the words desperately.

"An Eliot? What's an Eliot?"

"It's a . . . it's a - my . . . he's my . . . partner." She bit her lip realizing that was far too close to the truth.

"Your partner? As in . . . life-partner? Boyfriendy-husbandy kind of thing?"

She nodded frantically, "Yes, that's right. He's one of those boyfriendy-husbandy kind of things."

"You're useless, Parker," Eliot growled into her ear. "Seriously? I'm your boyfriendy-husbandy kind of thing. Like hell!"

"Sure you're not just saying that to get out of spending some time with me. You don't blow him up, do you?"

Parker frowned, bemused by the final question. "Blow him up? Why would I blow him up? I like him and that would be a waste of C4 . . . You're weird, you know that?"

"Erm . . . I guess . . . I thought I was more 'cute' than 'weird' but I guess weird works too. So you're not up for going on a date with me, then?" He sighed, "Stupid question. Pretty girl like you, of course, you're already spoken for . . . Still you know, if anything should happen like um . . . you get tired of your Eliot, I'd be available at short notice. Here's my number." He stuck his hand in his pocket and drew out a scrap of paper with a number on it. "Call me sometime if you change your mind."

He held the paper out steadily until Parker reluctantly took hold of it, at which point he turned his back and headed for his seat at the other end of the gallery.

"Parker . . . Parker . . ." Eliot's voice emerged from the white noise of surprise at the events that had just unfolded. "What's the number?"

# # # # # # #

Eliot ran the number Parker had got from Havers through his databases looking for any important information. His excuse was that Parker thought the guy was suspicious, in his heart he knew it was because he didn't want any serial heartbreaker mistreating his probie. She might be a little strange by normal standards, but Eliot kind of liked her the way she was. She was definitely growing on him, and nobody hurt his friends and got away with it.

So he wasn't really expecting anything major to ping up on his screen. So when the screen started flashing all kinds of security alerts at him, he was startled enough to swear down his mic at Parker, who gave a disgruntled, "Hey! What was that for? I've not done anything!"

"'s alright, Parker. Just got a little surprise this end. Make sure you stay safe, keep your eyes open, your guard up and yourself protected. You got me?"

"Yeah, I got you," she droned back at him, sounding a little bored at the oft-repeated words about keeping herself safe.

"I mean it, Parker. We're on the trail of some pretty serious criminals here, don't take any chances and let one of them get the drop on you. And watch out for your freaky stalker guy, just in case," he insisted, before turning his attention back to the information on the screens before him.

So it seemed Mr Havers was also more frequently know as Alec Hardison, thief and hacker, a.k.a. Adam Harding, Alan Hendersen or Aaron Heston. Scanning the screen, Eliot's attention was also drawn to the note at the bottom that said, "Possible associates Nathan Ford and Sophie Deveraux. Further information is available on these individuals, including a selection of known alias."

Eliot knew perfectly well it was, he'd hunted both of them before. This was exactly their type of gig, although sending in Havers, or Hardison as Eliot was going to think of him, was a new angle. He'd tracked both of them and almost been on top of them when a change in the brass had him hauled off the case and shifted to provide back up for someone else's drama. He'd not been happy when they'd robbed exactly the bank he'd said they were going to rob, at precisely the time he'd said, but they'd got clean away as despite his pleas, all his information had been ignored. Well, they weren't going to get away again, not on his watch.


	4. Just Like My Teenage Dream

**Chapter 4 – Just Like My Teenage Dream**

Hardison knew that he was supposed to have memorized the information that he'd been given by Mrs Nielsen if he was going to stand any chance of passing her scrutiny the next time she checked on him. He was also supposed to have retrieved information about the layout of the museum and the last of the security details that Nathan and Sophie needed. He figured he was doing slightly better on that score but only because it came as second nature.

What he could have told anyone who asked, not that anyone was likely to, was how many times an hour Miss Pattinson brushed her hair back over her shoulder or hooked it up into a band to create the most gorgeous pony-tail he'd ever seen. He could have told them how wonderful she smelled when he got close enough to lean in and smell her perfume or how flawless her skin was.

Miss Pattinson was everything he'd dreamed of as a horny teenager and more. For a start she was real and not the result of some strange 'Weird Science' type experiment like he'd spent many an hour planning through high school. She was amazing and he wasn't behaving like a love-struck teen, he was just admiring the scenery in a perfectly artistic manner.

She was even better for being just a little socially awkward and Hardison had a feeling that he had seen her talking to herself, but rather than disturbing he just thought that was a little cute. What he wanted now, more than the opportunity to steal precious paintings or make loads of money was the chance to impress Miss Pattinson, to find out her first name and then to pull out his best seduction routines and try them out on her . . . long term . . . And if anything, that was a real shock, he'd never before wanted to make any long term plans beyond making money, more money and even more money.

For the first time ever, Hardison wanted to go straight, earn a living that he could own up to and court a woman. Nathan would die laughing, Sophie would look at him with one of those 'Aw, isn't he just so young?' expressions that she was fond of pulling out and his Nanna would be overjoyed that he'd finally found the right track to follow.

His Nanna was probably right.

# # # # # # #

Hardison was sitting alone on his laptop, mind not on the battle with the horde but rather on Miss Pattinson. He was in real danger of dying . . . online if not in person. With a sigh, he was decided to withdraw for the session. The message back from his raid leader was distinctly less than complimentary. "Well, that sucks," he said, quickly withdrawing from the chat with apologies before anybody had time to decide they didn't want him in the raid in future.

He sat in silence staring at a blank screen for a while, minutes ticking by as he pondered what to do. His Nanna would really like Miss Pattinson, really like her, and there was part of Hardison that was still a little boy inside and wanted nothing more than to please his Nanna and be rewarded with extra cookies on his plate, even if they might just be metaphorical cookies for the time being.

He needed to know more. He needed to be able to make an educated decision based on balanced facts. He opened up a document on his page, quickly made a table and labelled one 'pros' and the other 'cons'.

He'd started with the pro column.

_1. Nanna would like Miss Pattinson.  
>2. Miss Pattinson is really pretty.<br>3. Miss Pattinson will be awesome in bed._

Admittedly he had no particular evidence for number three but he was pretty certain he was right. How could she not be? He paused and then started under the cons column.

_1. Nate and Sophie won't like Miss Pattinson.  
>2. Fraternization with other employees in the workplace - is this allowed?<br>3. Miss Pattinson talks to herself sometimes.  
>4. Miss Pattinson doesn't . . .<em>

Before he finished writing number four, he crossed number three out and moved it across to the pros column along with the words 'and she looks really cute when she does it.' He sighed and went back to the cons column adding 'seem to like me very much so far'. He needed to work on that one, because if he couldn't convince her that he was a nice guy, nothing else would matter.

He toyed with the touchpad for a while, making the cursor dance across the screen - pro - con - pro - con - back and forth, until he dashed it up to the corner and minimized the window with another dramatic sigh. He paused then, refocused himself and began to load up his access to the museum's computers. It took him no time to have the personnel files open and to be hunting through for Miss Pattinson. He worked without pause and downloaded all the information they had about her onto his own machine.

He opened the files and began to browse, found her address, her date of birth, there was a photo that for an instant he contemplated setting as his desktop wallpaper before he remembered that Sophie and Nate might see it there and so he resisted the temptation. It was nothing more than reflex that had him cross-checking her details against other databases and that was when he knew something was well and truly hinky.

Miss Pattinson didn't exist, no matter what her resume and application form might say. She may well be able to produce references but they weren't from people who actually worked in the companies she'd claimed to work for. Even worse, it meant that despite the very evidence before his eyes, Miss Pattinson was a figment of someone's imagination.

Hardison just hoped that she was still real and she hadn't been built by some lonely teenager in a basement somewhere.

He guessed he'd have to spend the next couple of hours trying to find out who she really was and where she actually came from.

# # # # # # #

Hardison gaped, then allowed his head to drop forward and hit the desk. It was definitely the time for an actual literal headdesk as opposed to the usual metaphorical *headdesk* moment he often alluded to in his online chats. He looked over his shoulder just to check that Nate and Sophie hadn't crept in without him noticing. Not that it was likely . . . well, okay, it had happened once or twice, but he was getting better at leaving at least a tendril of awareness in his surroundings so he didn't get caught doing something he didn't want them to know about.

This was definitely something he didn't want them to know about. Now he just needed to figure out what he was going to do about it. The evidence was clear as daylight in a less smoggy city. There on his screen was Miss Pattinson going into the local FBI headquarters.

He sighed and began the usual hack into their database. It didn't take long, he'd left himself a backdoor the last time he was in there. Yup, there she was - Special Agent Parker, looking every bit as gorgeous as she did in real life.

Hardison growled in frustration. How on earth was he supposed to fix this? He actually really wanted her to like him. Really wanted it. More than he had ever wanted anything before. More than all the money he'd manage to acquire, more than the property and . . . more than air. Nope, maybe that was a little melodramatic, he admitted to himself. After all without air, he wouldn't be getting her anyway, so no, he didn't want her more than air. Just more than anything else he'd ever thought about wanting.

He withdrew from the FBI computer system carefully and then closed down everything, sealing any files with passwords that he wanted to be sure Nate and Sophie couldn't even try to get into and then hiding them. He cleared his browsing history just to be sure there wasn't any last bit of evidence, opened and closed a few other files to replace those in his recent documents and then powered down his computer before heading upstairs to his bedroom to think things through more carefully.

He was halfway up the stairs when he suddenly remembered . . . He'd given Miss Pattinson, Special Agent Parker, his phone number . . . his real traceable phone number . . . the one that tied with his real life ID. He looked over his shoulder and wondered if it was worth throwing himself down the stairs and being done with it all now.


	5. Breathe In and Calm Yourself

**Chapter 5 – Breathe In and Calm Yourself**

Eliot couldn't believe that Alec Hardison, supposed hacker extraordinaire, had been stupid enough to give Parker his real phone number. Eliot had taken a shot of him from Parker's button cam and was running the image through facial recognition just to be absolutely certain. He'd also pulled Hardison's file and a list of known associates.

Matching the information in the file with the data they'd been given for this job, he figured the likelihood was that Hardison's colleagues were Nathan Ford and Sophie Deveraux. Sophie, while not entirely fitting all of the physical descriptions given, did fit one thing about them all - elegant looking, with impeccable dress sense and she was renowned for the way in which she could assume different identities, complete with accents and a number of foreign languages thrown in.

Eliot frowned and tapped his pencil angrily on the papers in front of him. He turned ideas over and over in his head trying to figure out the best way to handle it. Parker was the problem. She was not the most socially adept partner he'd ever had and from him that was one heck of an admission. She was going to panic as soon as he told her who Havers really was. Seriously, when she thought the guy was just a creepy new guy at the museum, she'd barely been able to hold a conversation with him without prompting from Eliot.

He sighed and tried to figure out how he was going to make this work. Could he actually expect Parker to call this guy up and carry off the pretense that she didn't know who he was? Could he risk sending her in blind with the hope that with a little prompting from him she might be able to get more information?

Before he came to a decision, the thought occurred that if he and Parker were busy running checks on all the staff at the museum then feasibly that was the reason why Hardison was there as well. He picked up the phone and called the Special Agent in Charge setting up a monitor on Parker's FBI records so that if anyone accessed them between now and the end of the job, he'd be informed.

"Why me?" he groaned.

**# # # # # # #**

Eliot had taken Parker out for Chinese after her shift at the Museum finished. He'd made light conversation, listened to her ramble on about various pieces of art that she'd spent the day looking at and the strange things people carried in their handbags when she'd done her first stint on the bag check at the entry to the Museum.

He smiled and nodded and gave her all the encouragement she needed to keep talking and to relax and just be sort of herself. He watched as the tension of the day left her, her kooky smile returned and she became just Parker. She wasn't so odd when she was like that, when she stopped over-thinking everything she and the people around her were doing. Then again maybe Eliot was just becoming immune to her little idiosyncracies.

"El . . . I am doing okay, aren't I?" she suddenly asked, biting the corner of her lip.

"Perfect, darlin'" he reassured with a warm smile. "You've done a wonderful job, so good that you've got the bad guy nipping at your heels 'cause he's fallen in love with you."

She frowned, not in the least reassured by the smile or the accompanying words. "What do you mean?"

"You were spot on with your assessment of Havers - he's our guy." Eliot tried to convey his approval of her actions so far. "His name's Alec Hardison and he's a hacker for the most part, but he's known to work with Nathan Ford and Sophie Deveraux who have both lightened the load of various art galleries and museums and the occasional bank!"

"He gave me his phone number," she said, shocked. "Why would he do that? Surely a criminal mastermind doesn't give out his phone number to Federal Agents just like that?"

"Well, firstly, he's not quite the criminal mastermind, that would be more Ford's line of work. Secondly, I don't think he realized that you were a Federal Agent, I think he genuinely believed that you're a new employee at the museum and I think he really does like you. I activated your button cam and I've been watching him. I think his actions have so far been genuine, however, we need to take into account the possibilty that it isn't the case and that he's specifically targetting you to get you out of the way, so there is to be no doing anything without my knowledge. I am your shadow and your fairy godmother rolled into one and you're not getting rid of me.

"My fairy godmother?" Parker smirked.

"You know what I mean," Eliot laughed. "I've got your back and I'm with you all the way. I promise."

"No wings? No wands?" she pouted and he laughed.

"Trust me, I'm gonna be close enough that before he finishes thinking about putting a foot out of line, I'll be breathing down his neck and putting on the cuffs."

She smiled and reached across the table to pat his arm, "I know you will, but can I keep my taser with me just in case?"

"You can," he agreed, "definitely."


	6. Beneath a Painting

**Chapter 6 - Beneath a Painting**

Hardison had barely slept a wink the night before, as he'd toyed over and over with the idea that was weighing heavily on his mind and when daylight finally dawned, all he could think was Nanna would agree this was the right thing. Whatever happened next, he knew he'd be making his Nanna proud.

That had to count for something. Right?

He arrived at work early, waiting on the doorstep to the staff entrance for almost an hour before anyone else turned up to let him in and then making his way to the staff locker rooms and hoping that he would be able to catch Miss Pattinson on her own quickly . . . before he had time to chicken out or for Nate and Sophie to wake up and notice they weren't getting any feedback from his end of the comms.

He'd got his earbud in and set to receive their information, but yeah, there was no point at which he would want them to start offering tips on what to do to impress Miss Pattinson. He wondered if he should already be thinking of her as Parker, preparing himself for the next stage of their relationship. Maybe that was jumping the gun slightly . . . she might be willing to go along with the first part of his plan but still not be willing to go on a date.

He pushed aside the negative thoughts and looked up into her eyes as she entered the room. It was now or never. No time like the present. No more inane quotations just do it, he reminded himself and stepped towards her.

"Miss Pattinson, I really, really need to talk to you. Can I take you to lunch today? Please. It's important and if you need to bring your . . . Eliot or whatever, that would be okay, but I really need your help and advice and it's important to your job, all of your job . . . you know. Not just this bit of it, now and here, but the other bit that isn't now and isn't here. . ." he finished it off with what he hoped was sufficient eye movement and face pulling to get his real meaning across.

There was a pause and then she said, "Yes, that's fine, my . . . Eliot or whatever will get us a table as soon as he knows what lunch break we're on." She nodded with finality and then stepped round him and walked out of the door and down to the main office.

He watched her go and reminded himself that he was doing the right thing for once in his life and that even if he didn't get the girl, it still made him a better person. And until she proved otherwise, he still had hope, because after all, maybe she just didn't like mixing business and pleasure and once this was over then she'd be willing to date properly.

# # # # # # #

Eliot was surprised by Hardison's request, but it was clear that he knew what Parker was even if he didn't know who she was. He also clearly had something to discuss,something that, Eliot presumed, had more to do with a potential robbery than dating Parker, particularly given that he'd said she could bring him along.

What was he playing at? Eliot turned the situation over and over in his mind even as he told Parker to agree to the meeting. Eliot tried to work out what exactly Hardison hoped to achieve. One possibility was that it was a subtle ploy to get them both away from the Museum so that the robbery could take place then. It was easy enough to counter. Eliot was determined that the Museum was not going to be robbed and that if Hardison was working with Ford and Deveraux that they would all be locked up before the case was over.

Eliot called round and made reservations at a nearby restaurant that he knew well as a friend had set it up, explaining how he needed two tables and what he wanted. His friend, a retired FBI agent himself, was quick to agree and say that he had just the tables Eliot needed. He then called his boss, explaining that Parker had been able to set up a meet with a likely informant for the case and that he needed to provide support for her in her further investigations and he needed someone else to be watching over the Museum, to make sure that he and Parker weren't being distracted to enable the robbery to take place.

Thankfully, the workload was low enough that the Boss was quick to agree to Eliot's request. Everything was in place and all that was left was for Eliot to keep reassuring Parker and to wait for his museum observers to arrive so that he could head for the restaurant in advance.

It was a relief to hand off to the two other agents, leaving them with pictures of Ford and Deveraux and telling them to call him and the Boss if either of them turned up. With that done, he left them to their observations and jogged round to the restaurant, arriving there early enough to set up a couple of mics to record the conversation between Parker and Hardison, or Havers as she was still calling him. He then settled himself in to his own seat at a table and ordered a simple pasta dish from the menu and a single glass of wine (heavily watered). It would taste horrendous but at least it would maintain the illusion that he was just another patron of the restaurant. There were enough other single diners that while Hardison might suspect that Parker's partner would be somewhere near, he wouldn't necessarily be able to identify which of them he was.

His friend had agreed that he would bring out Eliot's food just after Parker and Hardison had arrived, adding another layer to the illusion He would also linger with as many of the other single diners as he could and if some of them began to leave and it was looking too likely that Eliot would be identified, he had already set up a space in a small storage room which Eliot could access unhindered.

Hopefully, everything would now go to plan.

# # # # # # # #

Hardison was nervous. He wasn't very good with girls, or at least not with real ones and Miss Pattinson or Parker as he soooo wanted to call her, was a real girl, a real live pretty girl out of his dreams. How was he supposed to maintain his cool and convince her that everything he was about to suggest was worth believing.

They walked quietly from the Museum round to the restaurant she had suggested. It was close enough to be ideal and certainly one that he'd thought about eating in more than once. He had actually ordered take-out a couple of times from them and that had definitely been worth while.

He knew he needed to break the silence, needed to talk to her about something, to put them both at their ease, but he had no idea where to start. "So have you eaten here before?" he tried.

Parker paused, then said, "Yes . . . no . . . yes . . . with my . . . erm . . . my Eliot. You remember, my husbandy/boyfriendy kind of thing - person. We've eaten here before. Pasta with tomato and garlic and - and herby stuff and bacon and onions. It was good. I liked it."

"Right, well that's good. You like it here then . . . I've not eaten there exactly, just ordered take-out which was good too. Probably not as good as eating in, but even so. . . I liked it. I'm glad to be eating here . . . with you . . . 'cause I like you . . . your company, I mean. A lot."

"You don't know me a lot," Parker said bluntly. "We don't talk in the museum very much when we're working. You could tell me stuff about you." She tilted her head slightly as if she was listening to someone else. "If you wanted. What other jobs have you done?"

Hardison smiled, giving a chuckle. "I'm not going to tell you that right now. . . Look I do like you and I want to make some stuff right, but I don't really want to incriminate myself and end up locked up, so no telling you about other jobs right now, alright?"

"Don't you trust me?"

Hardison scuffed his shoe against the floor, "I trust you to do your job properly and you know when we're talking in the restuarant, I figure maybe we'll come to some sort of arrangement with your Eliot guy and go from there."

"My Eliot guy won't be there . . . you asked_ me _to have lunch with you."

"Oh! Erm, right, well, still we'll save it until we're there. Okay?"

Parker frowned at him for a moment, then nodded and walked faster, making him lengthen his stride to keep up with her.

As they entered the restaurant, Parker headed straight to the hostess and began to explain that she'd reserved a table. The woman smiled and led them through the main room to a secluded table. Hardison looked round, assessing the other diners. There were four men all eating alone, three tables of two and a group of four. Two of the single diners were already eating, one was sipping at a glass of wine but didn't have a menu and the final one was still browsing through as if making a selection. He was the most likely colleague for Parker, he decided, smart haircut, cheap suit. Parker didn't even look at him though. He reminded himself that she was trained to go undercover, of course she wouldn't make the rookie mistake of acknowledging her colleague.

He followed her to the table and took the seat opposite her. He took a few deep breaths, reminding himself that he was doing the right thing and that he was expecting her to have a colleague here and that it didn't matter if she had.

# # # # # # # #

Hardison watched as Parker picked up the menu and buried her nose inside it as if she was reading intently. She was gorgeous and maybe just a little kooky, he thought. She huffed out a breath of air, closed her eyes and looked up at him and he realized that whether he'd spotted her colleague or not, she could quite possibly be receiving prompts. He'd have to keep reminding himself that his first priority needed to be her job, not getting a date.

"Do you know what you want to eat?" he asked cautiously. "I mean, we are going to eat while we talk, right?"

She nodded, then added, "Yes, I know and we can. Yes." She nodded again and looked at him expectantly.

"Um, right. I'll . . . er . . . the waiter . . ." It suddenly occured to him that perhaps the waiter was her partner undercover. "Do you know the waiter? Is he your . . . Eliot?"

She frowned, "No!" As the waiter approached, she looked him up and down appraisingly, then said, "He looks nothing like my Eliot!"

The waiter quirked an eyebrow and said, "Are you ready to place your order, madam, sir?"

"I'll have . . . that one . . ." Parker said, twirling her finger round in a circle and then randomly dropping it on to the page before her.

Hardison stared at her stunned, jaw dropping open as he realized she hadn't even looked to see which one her finger had landed on. He was so surprised that he missed the waiter's first "And for you, sir?"

"Ummm." He stumbled, completely forgetting what he'd chosen and finally forcing out "Lasagna. Yes, lasagna, I'll eat that. Please. Thank you." As the waiter moved away, he leaned forward and said, "Did you really just twirl your finger and randomly pick something?"

She nodded, looking slightly bemused at the question. "Why? Is there something wrong with doing that? Eliot lets me do that," she finished defensively.

"No! No, that's fine. I've just never seen anyone else pick that way. Do you even know what you're going to have?"

"A surprise," she said, blandly. "I like surprises." Suddenly her face fell. "Oh no! I forgot to ask him for fortune cookies."

Hardison looked round shiftily, then leaned in to quietly say, "Fortune cookies are in Chinese restaurants, not Italian ones."

She glared at him haughtily, "This one does them. When Eliot brings me here, I always get fortune cookies." She waved at the waiter who made his way back across the room and smiled at her. "Can I add fortune cookies to my order, please?" she beamed at him.

"I shall see what I can do for you, madam. Would you be wanting them with your meal or after?" he smiled as if it was not the bizarrest thing Hardison had ever heard of.

"Ummm, dessert. Dessert, please." Hardison wished she'd look at him with such utter delight. As the waiter left, she turned her attention back to Hardison and said, "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Oh, yeah . . ." Hardison looked round and then shifted in his seat nervously.

"Are you manipulating me?" she asked suspiciously.

"What? No! No! Not at all. Look . . . I know what you do, when you're not being security in the museum and I want to help you with something, because I figure you're there because you're expecting the museum to be robbed and that is the plan and I can tell you about it . . . but if I do . . . well, if I do, then can you help me get out of the situation I'm in, so it doesn't look like it was me who told you, but I'm also not kind of locked up forever with someone losing the key?"

"They're not allowed to do that," Parker said. "They're very careful with all of their keys."

"Umm. . . yeah, I guess . . . well that wasn't exactly what I meant. I mean it's a figure of speech, right? Throwing away the keys, losing the keys . . . kind of saying you're going to be locked up until you die."

"Well, I guess that would depend upon how many crimes they convicted you of. But if you helped us, then that would be taken into account and the judge would like you and not lock you up for so long, maybe even not at all."

Hardison wondered for a moment what Parker's partner might be like; she didn't strike him as a typical FBI agent. He adored her for all the slightly unusual things she did and said but he wondered how that transferred into having to work official cases with her, where they had rules and procedures to follow or had to deal with people.

"Eliot thinks that he could make a good case for you not being prosecuted for this at all if you help us and that it would stand you in good stead for any other outstanding crimes. He says if you prove yourself useful enough, he'd speak in your favor, so I guess I would too. Eliot knows about stuff like that. He's good."

Much as Hardison appreciated the offer, he also experienced a surge of jealousy. He wondered who Eliot was, what he looked like, whether he was a good man in more ways than just being an FBI agent. Hardison kind of supposed that he must be; after all, he didn't let Parker feel like there was anything wrong with the way she chose food from a menu or ordering fortune cookies in an Italian restaurant, and seriously he wondered what else they kept in the kitchen for bizarre requests, because he'd have never thought to ask for that. He forced his mind back to the matter at hand as he noticed the somewhat exasperated look on Parker's face.

"Okay, so I was recruited by Nathan Ford and Sophie Deveraux," he finally admitted. "I've done a few jobs with them. I could give you details if . . . if it's necessary and if I can use it to help reduce my charges or whatever, not if it's going to increase what happens to me. I want to get out of this lifestyle and do something right to go some way to fixing it but it's not much of an incentive . . ." He let the words die out.

"They are planning a heist at the museum. When they saw the advertisement for staff, they made me go for the job. That isn't how they normally do it. Usually they just leave me to hack into the systems, while they work the job. Sophie often goes on site posing as an out of town expert, or someone wanting to trade between museums, that kind of thing. I don't know why they changed their mind this time. Or maybe, it's because I slipped up on the last job and got distracted and they almost got caught when the sensors rebooted without my noticing." He shrugged.

"When?"

"I don't know yet, I don't think they've even decided, but I would think it would be pretty soon as they were setting up meetings today and tomorrow with some clients who they think might buy the stuff they're planning on lifting."  
>"Do you know which pieces they're planning on taking?" Parker asked.<p>

Hardison got the feeling she was being directed on what to ask by her partner but it wasn't like he could really blame her. He'd expected her partner to be there at the table, to get as far as he had with just her for company was a bonus.

"As far as I know, they've got buyers for the Monet, the Picasso, a Sheeler and a Demuth, not sure after that which specific paintings although I think they'll take some just to have in store for when the right buyer comes along."

"Wow! That's some haul just on its own!"

"Look, put me out of my misery here, do you think you and your partner can help me?"

Parker paused and he hoped it was that she was listening to whatever her partner was prompting her to say and not that she was considering how to refuse him any help. "Eliot says we can figure something out. He says we can't have lunch again though after today, because that would be suspicious, so when we leave, I have to be polite but tell you I'm not interested in you, whatever I think of you."

It made sense, Hardison knew it made sense, but it hurt anyway. He'd wanted to pretend for a little while that something was blossoming between them.

"Eliot says." He looked up as she started to talk again, hating Eliot already. "That if you want to ask me on a date, you can't do it until after the heist is over and if you prove that you're honorable, but he's going to leave it up to me as to whether I want to go on a date with you and that if you ever harm a hair on my head he will take your junk and tear it off and stuff it down your throat." She said it in a similar tone of voice to the one she'd ordered the fortune cookies with, which Hardison found more than a little disconcerting, but in another way, he found the actual words reassuring. Whoever Eliot was, he was clearly very protective of his partner, but also unless he was really kinky, he wasn't interested in her in a romantic way, which at least gave Hardison some modicum of opportunity.

"Eliot says, we need to figure out a way to pass information and he wants to know how you stay in touch with them. Do you use comms?"

"Yeah, normally I've got my comm in and I can relay relevant information to them about the museum and what's on display, any changes to the current security and things like that."

"Can you put a one-way link in to the comms, so that Eliot can listen in but it never picks anything up from his end? He said you're supposed to be some sort of whizz with computers."

"Yeah, I guess I could do that. I'd need to . . . It might take me a couple of days because I'd need to get theirs to show as faulty first so that I could make the modifications without them noticing. I'll get back to you on that one as soon as I can."

# # # # # # # #

There were times when Eliot listened in on Parker talking to people and he wondered where she grew up to be so completely socially inept as to miss out on sayings like 'locking someone up and throwing the keys away'. He'd discovered the finger twirling over the menu thing that she did was actually the fact that she'd never really eaten out before and so she didn't really know how to go about picking dishes that she liked when it was all new. Rather than struggle with trying to work out what she liked, she'd arbitrarily pick something and hope for the best. He'd been trying to educate her out of it in the months they'd worked together and that was when he'd arrived at the horrendous suspicion that she didn't know how to cook either and lived on microwaveable TV dinners. His whole essence shuddered at the thought, but she was a grown woman and he had to believe that she could look after herself, even when he strongly suspected that she couldn't. In the meantime, he took steps to teach her all the things he thought she ought to know about food . . . or rather the basics that he thought he could get away with trying to teach her, when she was in the mood to listen.

Hardison was a peculiar one. Eliot had decided that he didn't quite have a handle on him yet. The crush on Parker was glaring. The reason for betraying his team-mates was not. The sudden urge to go straight was beyond Eliot's ability to work out. He was turning that one over and over in his head as he tried to figure it out with little success.

He kept coming back to Parker and the crush, but surely Hardison couldn't be that love-struck as to actually want to turn straight for an FBI agent! That sounded like something out of some kind of daytime drama, that Eliot knew absolutely nothing about and had never ever watched . . . not even that time when he'd been shot and laid up in hospital for a week followed by a month's rest at home before he'd been deemed fit for duty again. Anyone who says differently doesn't know what they're talking about and clearly he'd just fallen asleep due to the heavy duty pain meds he was taking and his hand had just dropped onto the remote control and changed channel without him being aware of it.

When Parker suddenly called the waiter back so she could order fortune cookies, he had a heart-stopping moment that it was going to blow everything sky high. Fortunately the waiter knew who she was in that she came in with Eliot who was a friend of his boss, he handled it smoothly and while Eliot had no idea whether they had fortune cookies out in the kitchen as he hadn't thought to pre-warn them this time, for the moment the disaster was averted.

Every restaurant he'd taken her to, she'd ordered the cookies, so the first time he'd brought her to this one, he'd dropped some by earlier in the day. It was somewhere he liked enough to want to come back to and if that meant dropping in a box of cookies and explaining to his friend what he needed to happen, it was a small price to pay for a meal to go without a hitch. Hence this was now Parker's favorite restaurant (after just about any Chinese because they could pretty much be trusted to stock the aforementioned item).

He was relieved that the waiter had taken the order in his stride and wondered whether he was going to have pay his friend back big time for sending some poor kitchen minion out on a mercy mission or whether he still had some left over from the last box Eliot had brought in.

He listened and prompted Parker, getting her to dig a little deeper into Hardison's knowledge and his motivation. Eliot got the information he needed with regard to the job, but still no clue as to why Hardison wanted out. Still he'd never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He wondered what Hardison knew of the buyers Ford and Deveraux were busy lining up, whether he could get enough details to haul them in too. It was a nice daydream, but he was realistic enough to know never to let his thoughts run away with him.

The waiter appeared at his side and Eliot looked up quickly, deactivating his end of the comm, so as not to unwittingly prompt Parker into saying anything. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir," the waiter began, "but Mr Dyson was wondering if you wanted to advise him on what to serve the young lady and to reassure you that he has plenty of fortune cookies in stock so you aren't to worry."

Eliot smiled and relaxed, quickly glanced at the offered menu and ordered a simple pasta for Parker, something that would please her tastes and not be too messy to eat or distract her from the conversation by being fiddly. Before the waiter left, he ordered himself a tiramisu and coffee.

He relaxed back into his chair and continued to listen to the conversation on the other table, feeling like for once he had a good hand in the game they were all playing.


	7. Gathering the Bodies

**Chapter 7 - Gathering the Bodies**

From the time Hardison 'came over to their side' so to speak, it took another ten days for everything else to fall into place and Eliot was pretty pleased with the way things were going. It seemed that once Hardison had decided to go straight, he was going to do it wholeheartedly. He had slipped Parker a couple of comms, tuned to the same frequency as Ford and Deveraux's but set to pick up only, never transmit.

Eliot had bought two disposable phones, programed the number of each into the other and had Parker slip one into Hardison's locker at the museum. That evening, as he'd expected, Hardison had called. "Parker?"

"Nope, wrong choice," he'd replied. "It's her boyfriendy-husbandy kind of thing."

"Oh . . . right . . . umm . . ." Hardison sounded worried.

"Look, this isn't about her. It's about the job. I wanted you to have a direct line to me, so to speak, for any concerns or developments. The phones aren't tied to any names, so you're good."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Right," Eliot said, "Let's get down to the baseline here. Why now? Why have you suddenly decided to help the FBI?"

"Because what I've been doing . . . it isn't right. If I change now, maybe. . . maybe I can make my Nana proud."

"Seriously?" Eliot barely held back a laugh of shock. "You want to go straight so that you can make your _Nana_proud?"

"Well, that was a big part of it . . . And you know I want a proper life, I don't want to be on the run, I don't want the FBI trying to hunt me down. I want a home, you know, friends, real friends . . . not like Nathan and Sophie, people I can trust. With the two of them, I can't be sure that I'm safe. They look out for themselves, I'm not certain that they wouldn't turn on me at any point. I don't want to live like that anymore."

Eliot could see his point, but there was one more thing he needed to be sure of. "And Parker? What are your intentions towards her?"

# # # # # # # #

So everything was in place. Eliot had positioned agents at various points in the neighborhood of the museum, with Parker and Hardison still on the inside. He'd replaced some of the night staff with undercover agents - one to work in each pair of guards, so that there was a staff member who was familiar with routine and an agent to tackle intruders.

He was confident that he'd done everything right, that nothing _should_go wrong. He wasn't a fool though and he had no intention of letting over-confidence lead to a botched take-down. In his heart, he wanted to be the one down on the ground, in the thick of everything, but years of experience and the knowledge of every intricate detail of the case meant he had to sit back and co-ordinate.

If all went to plan, Ford and Deveraux would be breaking in overnight, which meant that Parker was safe . . . he didn't trust anyone else to handle her right and not to over react to her little idiosyncracies, as he'd decided to call them this week.

Now he just had to wait it out.

Eliot was not a patient man. He had never liked stake-outs, always preferred the action and this part of the job just plain sucked. He growled under his breath and instantly regretted it, when Parker asked, "What's wrong, Eliot?"

"Nothing, Darlin', nothing at all. You know me, I just don't like waitin', prefer to be moving things along."

She giggled and he relaxed. Everything was going to be okay.

He hoped.

**# # # # # # # #**

Hardison was nervous, sitting at home on his laptop, surveying the events at the museum. He'd left tiny cameras in important locations round the museum so that he could see what was happening inside and relay the information to Nate and Sophie. He'd given Eliot access to the same frequencies so that he too could see exactly where everyone was and what they were doing.

There was a part of him that felt guilty for betraying Nate and Sophie . . . they were the nearest thing he'd had to friends in more years than he wanted to count, but he had to keep believing that he was doing the right thing. He really was.

He and Eliot had made a plan on exactly how this would go down to make sure that he was safe from any blame. Over the past few weeks, Nate had decided where precisely Hardison would position the cameras and Eliot and Hardison had been able to work out a planned route that one set of guards could walk without being picked up by Hardison's bugs and it was now down to precise timing so that that pair of guards were the ones to 'accidentally bump' into Nate and Sophie and alert everyone else so that they couldn't escape.

If that failed, he knew that Eliot also had agents outside who would pick them up there. He hadn't quite worked out how they were going to explain their knowledge for that one, but Eliot had seemed sincere when he said that he had made sure that Hardison was going to be fine and not heading for the rest of eternity in jail.

**# # # # # # # #**

Nathan was confident. He had planned everything perfectly. He smiled at Sophie and said, "Ready to go to work, my dear?"

"Absolutely. After you though . . ." came her coquettish reply.

The two of them slipped through the undergrowth that surrounded the parking lot, heading for the side door that they had rigged earlier in the day when Sophie had slipped into the museum under the guise of being a potential patron willing to donate substantial amounts of money to the museum for the acquisition of further artefacts.

They moved quickly through the dim corridors, avoiding the motion detectors that Hardison had already managed to rig to go through their cycles slower than their original settings, giving them time to pass with a few extra seconds to spare, knowing that on their return they would be laden with artefacts.

They had the guard cycles memorized and knew their timing on each section of their journey and had also isolated stash points so that they could 'claim' items and stash them ready to collect on their way back to their planned exit. Everything was going smoothly, precisely to plan and Nate spared a broad and lascivious grin for Sophie, who giggled in return.

**# # # # # # # #**

Hardison watched his monitors, giving Nate and Sophie the feedback they expected about the guards. He anxiously chewed on the corner of one nail, a habit his Nana had tried hard to break him of throughout his years with her. There was so much riding on this.

Silently, he sent a prayer to his Nana. "Nana, if you're watching over me . . . I'm trying to change. I want to be the man you always hoped I'd grow up to be. I'll give everything back and I'll go straight from now on, please if you have any influence up there, can you have this go the right way?"

He watched as Sophie smoothly set the counter balance behind the Monet, ensuring that when Nate lifted it down the alarm was not triggered. That was their second painting, they were half way there . . . Two more to go and then Eliot's team would swoop in and catch them with their haul. He just needed to hold out hope for a little longer.

**# # # # # # # #**

Everything had gone perfectly. Nate as ever appeared to be feeling supremely proud of himself as he watched Sophie almost giggle with delight as they headed back to the first stash of paintings with their final piece.

Hardison kept track as they didn't rush, just sauntered through the corridors as if they owned the museum and had absolutely nothing to fear. Back at the first stash, they carefully took the pieces up, already wrapped as they'd done immediately on taking them down from their displays. Little did they know that in their absence every single one had been tagged with a tracking chip to remove any chance of them being removed from the property and lost forever.

"I can't wait until I get you home tonight," he said to Sophie in a low voice.

"Oh, please!" Hardison groaned, "Can't you at least wait until you've turned the comms off?"

Sophie giggled and Nate gave a snort of amusement. "Maybe we'll leave the comms in tonight," he said with a leer.

"Yeah?" replied Hardison, "Well, maybe, I'll post the resulting soundtrack to Youtube and see how you like that!"

Nate laughed and Sophie chipped in, with a sultry voice, "Darling, maybe you should join us . . . maybe I'd even let you bring a camera . . ."

"Ew! Gross! Seriously, woman, have some sense of propriety!"

The two older thieves laughed at him. "Life's about the fun, Hardison, about living and getting what you can, while you can and seriously, so long as everyone involved is having a good time, what's the problem? It's like this job, we're liberating a few items and taking them to more appreciative audiences . . . Doesn't hurt anyone and we stand to gain a little in the process."

"Of course it doesn't," Hardison replied, "I don't need you to tell me that." He knew better than to suddenly start to contradict their previously shared life view. He'd had more than a change of heart. He'd actually looked into what it meant to the museum if they lost those 'few' pieces. He'd even talked to Eliot about it. He'd never realized before that what they did hurt so many people. Firstly the security guards in place at the time would be suspended and investigated while they tried to apportion some kind of blame, then there would be insurance claims that would drag out possibly for years, there would be a resulting loss of income for the museum : the pieces they'd targeted were a big draw for the public. Less income meant less staff; the museum didn't exactly make a healthy profit. For every piece they stole, there were literally thousands of people a year who would no longer be able to see it, view it, experience it . . . people too poor to experience art any other way. All of that without a shot being fired, without a single piece of physical violence and Hardison knew he didn't want to be part of it anymore.

His Nana had taken him to art galleries and museums when he was a boy, it was where he'd got the chance to appreciate the art, where he'd developed his love of it and for the last few years he'd been taking that opportunity away from thousands of kids like himself. No wonder he always felt like his Nana was disappointed in him.

He prayed silently that Eliot's plan would work and it would all be over; he could walk away free from the burden of living this life. Money and wealth meant nothing when he couldn't even look himself in the eye as he shaved in the morning.

**# # # # # # # # #**

Eliot was impressed; Hardison had managed to stay calm, collected and in role throughout the whole heist. He hadn't given anything away and there was no reason whatsoever for Ford and Devereux to be expecting what was about to happen at all. He grinned maliciously to himself. This was going to be wonderful.

He didn't like the way the two older thieves taunted and heckled Hardison, it would only make him even more pleased to see them locked up with the key thrown away and even more relieved that Hardison had come to his senses. Eliot had kind of grown to like the younger man over the last couple of weeks, well, almost like him . . . He was still a little wary of letting him out to play near Parker, but his trust was growing slowly.

He called in his agents, getting them into position so that as soon as Ford and Deveraux stepped outside the door of the Museum it would all be over. He listened as the two thieves made their way, chatting nonchalantly as if they didn't have a care in the world. He kept a low level of information running through the comms to the men outside so that . . .

As Ford stepped through the door carrying his precious bundle of art, he heard the click of guns trained on him. Deveraux let out a gasp of surprise as she followed him through. Eliot grinned in a positively malevolent fashion as he listened to proceedings. He heard as Ford searched desperately for some plausible reason to be exiting the Museum in the early hours of the morning carrying countless millions worth of irreplacable artwork and best of all he even heard the click of handcuffs as they fastened tight around the wrists of the two thieves.

He heard the two of them being hauled indelicately off and smiled again. He heard the click of the door opening behind him and turned to grin at Parker.

"Did we get them?" she asked.

Eliot smirked, "Was there ever any question that we would?" She let out a little squeal of delight. "Textbook perfect, darling," he added. "They're going away for a very, very long time . . ."

She clapped her hands excitedly, "Oooh, good. I like it when the good guys win!"

Eliot shook his head and added drily, "I'm pleased to hear it, kiddo."


	8. Epilogue  Fighting Crime With Limes!

**Epilogue - Fighting Crime with . . . Limes!**

_Almost One Year Later_

Hardison kicked back in his comfortable office chair, nicely padded and ergonomically 'just right'. He took a swig of his orange soda, before pulling his laptop on to his lap and poking at it, while he waited to hear what was going on in the outside world through his comms. Parker wouldn't be quiet for much longer, he'd lay money on it.

Tucked away in his own little office in the local FBI headquarters, he was a completely changed person on a year ago - even if Special Agent Eliot Spencer did insist on calling his office alternately the hellhole and the cubby. He'd fallen in love with his office and so he'd named her Lucille . . . he didn't love her as much as he loved Parker, but that was kind of a sore point at times . . . He and Parker danced around each other. They were definitely friends, maybe more . . . they had kissed and hugged and there'd even been some pretty heavy petting and then Parker had been strange so he'd backed off and let her have some space, because that was one thing that he'd never gone against his Nana's words on, no matter how close he'd become to being a career criminal. Always, without any question, he would treat a woman with respect.

Eliot laughed at the two of them, called them both kids, which Hardison could admit they kind of were next to his years of experience and seemingly endless wisdom (not all of which Hardison was sure was actual wisdom and wasn't just Eliot's opinion which he was going to share whether they wanted to hear it or not), oh, and a more than healthy dose of teasing.

Hardison worried about Parker when she was out on the job, but he just had to rely on the fact that his was the finger on the button making sure all the information they needed was perfect and that Eliot would protect her with his life, something else he had learned not to question. To call Eliot protective was an understatement; the man was unstoppable when it came to protecting Parker and innocent civilians and Hardison had seen him brush off more than one injury that would have laid a lesser man out.

Now though they were tracking their latest criminal out of the financial district and it appeared that he was heading for a farmer's market, probably hoping to get lost in the crowd. "He's going to get away!" Over the comms, Hardison heard the frustration in Parker's voice. "I'm going to throw something at him!"

Eliot snorted, "Have you practised since the last time you tried that? Or do I need to remind you what happened with the mangoes?"

"No! Okay!" Parker sounded pouty, Hardison could picture the cute little face she pulled when she was in a mood like that. He could also imagine perfectly the sardonic eyebrow raise that Eliot would be giving her. All of a sudden her tone changed and she said cheerily, "Actually I do remember you saying that you could have done better than me! So why don't you take this opportunity to prove it?"

"Did I?" he queried, seeming to give the matter some thought. "Hmmm, yep, you might be right, I did. You better get me some mangoes then."

Hardison wondered what had happened with the mangoes previously as it certainly wasn't anything that had happened while he had been their tech support, as he listened into Parker's hurried conversation with the guy selling fruit

"Eliot, he's got no mangoes . . . what do you want instead?"

"What's he got?"

"Peaches? Apricots? A melon? Strawberries? Limes?"

"Strawberries? What exactly do you think I'm going to do with a strawberry, girl!" There was a string of curse words before Hardison heard him say, "Limes . . . three limes and quickly!"

The next thing he heard was a "Wow!" from Parker. There was just the sound of their feet running and apologies as they pushed through the crowd to catch up with their man. "Hardison?" Parker said next, "We need transport - a pick up at the east exit of the farmer's market . . . and you're never going to believe this, Eliot took down our guy with two limes at ninety feet! Isn't that awesome?"

"Yeah, I guess that is kind of awesome," Hardison agreed. "How'd you do it, man?"

"It takes years of practise and a very distinctive throwing style," replied Eliot as Hardison heard him haul the guy to his feet and begin to push through the crowd. "Oh and while I remember, I've booked you two a table for dinner on Saturday night together at the restaurant where you had your first 'date'."

"Ooooh!" Parker said, excitedly.

"Ermmm, the first date didn't . . . they didn't do fortune cookies, man . . . I don't know how you manage to find so many restaurants that actually do fortune cookies . . ."

"Not that first date," Eliot grouched. "The one you went to from the Museum, Saturday is your first anniversary. This time, I'm not going to be on the other end of comms to help you guys out, so you need to get your acts together."

"Oh! That first date . . . First anniversary?" Hardison squeaked.

"Parker, darlin'. I think I will have some of those strawberries. Give me your comm and run get me some while I hang on to this idiot for the guys to arrive, will you?"

Parker dutifully handed over her comm, which Hardison thought was strange enough, but then Eliot began to speak to him directly. "Hardison, you told me you were intelligent . . . Yet you still haven't worked out the fortune cookies . . . What you do is you buy some yourself and you drop them by the restaurant earlier in the day and you tell them she'll order some and they just serve them up as per her request . . . You seriously never worked that out?"

"That's what you've been doing this whole time?" Hardison gasped. "You - You are a cheat!"

"Maybe, but at least we get to eat in decent places rather than always having to eat Chinese," Eliot griped back. "Oh, and while I remember, what I said when you started this whole thing with Parker . . . you hurt her and I will break both of your legs and dump you off a bridge. Don't forget that!"


End file.
